Porcelain
by exitlude
Summary: “How would you like to save the world?" Sylar's back in the hands of The Company, who have recruited a new member to make sure he stays put this time. Future Sylar/OC. WiP. Slightly AU. Post-S1. ABANDONED. Read my profile for more details.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Just re-uploaded each chapter (as of July 21, '08). As I've said before, I've decided to publish this fic to test the waters, see if anyone might enjoy my (in my own opinion) crappy writing. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated, so please leave a review!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Heroes, sadly.

**Veronica Hammond**

**Hartsdale, New York**

White walls. Barred windows. Cold linoleum floor. It's no different from the other rooms here in this entire building, save perhaps for Bob's office. But even the wooden furniture and photographs of his dearest daughter don't bring any warmth into the room. I've been there many times and the feeling is still the same: tense and detached, much like the personnel themselves of the facility. But who am I to judge? I'm practically one of them. The only person in this place I wouldn't associate the apathy of the rooms with is Dr. Suresh. He's a kind, gentle soul, always wanting to do the right thing. I often wonder how someone like him ended up working for The Company. Then again, my situation wasn't that at all simple either…

**One month ago**

_Petrelli pulled out of Congress_.

The newspaper headline glares at me, taunting me, the bold black letters practically boring themselves into my eyes. A picture of a dark-haired man in a disheveled suit is splayed underneath the day's headline of The New York Times. I place the paper down on the kitchen counter and sip my cup of coffee quietly. I'm not surprised. All of us at the campaign office expected it, but never hoped for it.

The evening after his victory was announced, Nathan Petrelli was brought to the hospital's ICU. He had suffered from extreme radioactive burns. Although he made a sudden miraculous recovery, he surely isn't the same man full of charisma and optimism. He is suffering from depression, or so his mother says. I've never liked that woman. She once complimented me on my suit, but I'm sure she was rolling her eyes the minute I turned around. I could tell she wasn't as fond of Nathan as she was of Peter, Nathan's younger brother and who's now a vegetable. He, too, suffered the same radioactive burns as Nathan but he clearly wasn't all too lucky as his elder sibling.

I drain my cup and throw the newspaper into the trash bin. I don't bother giving the story a second glance. The press surely must have exaggerated all the bits of information they could get their hands on. "Nathan Petrelli, the nutcase." That might as well be the headline. As I place the dirty dishes in the dishwashing machine, the telephone rings.

"Hey, this is Veronica. You know the drill. _BEEP._ V! It's Nat. We're all here at the office. There'll be a meeting in a few minutes. The press is having a field day outside. Nathan might come over, but his mother's probably not going to let him out of her clutches. Anyway, you'd better get your ass here, ASAP. See you, V."

Natalie. She's probably getting a little enjoyment from all the press hype. The real news hasn't hit her yet: we're all going to be unemployed. I can feel myself twitch at the thought. I sit by the counter and take a deep breath. I've worked so hard for this…Four years in Columbia—on scholarship…an internship with the Petrelli law firm and then, like _that_. Gone. Because my boss turns out to be a manic depressive. I bite my lip. _What now?_

I hear another ringing, this time from my cellphone. Natalie, I'm sure. I don't want to go the office, despite the fact I'm already dressed and ready. I can't bear to face all that pressure and disappointment. I don't answer my phone and drag myself to my bedroom to change. After months of intense campaigning, all I want is some rest and relaxation. Sitting in front of the television with popcorn and ice cream should fit the bill.

I wash away my make-up, which I carefully put on an hour ago in the bathroom. Without all the foundation and blush, I realize I look absolutely in need of said rest and relaxation. My skin has paled and is tight on my cheekbones. My once fine brown hair is a thick mess of waves and there are grayish circles beneath my eyes, which have lost its vivid green hue. _That's what you get for staying indoors for too long and forgetting to eat properly_. Coffee and sandwiches aren't exactly the best daily diet. My last proper meal was at the victory party two nights ago…

_RRRIIINNNGGG!_

It's no longer my telephone or mobile. It's the doorbell this time. _Don't tell me they actually sent someone over here to get me._ I peer through the peephole and the face of a balding, bespectacled man looks right back at me. _I don't think I've ever seen this guy in the campaign office before_. I hesitantly unlock the door and pull it open.

"Ms. Hammond?" The man says, his voice flat and nasal.

"Yes, how may I help you?" I ask, eyeing the man's polished leather shoes and dull-brown suit.

"My name is Bob." He says. "How would you like to save the world?"

**Present day**

Today is not an ordinary day, but ever since I met Bob, not one has been considerably normal.

It's been more than five minutes since I've been waiting for him. I'm alone, but that's hardly true. I'm aware of the surveillance camera in the corner of the room, right above the metal cabinet. I'm sitting on a metal chair, drumming my nails on a metal table. I'm used to the coldness of everything now, the numb everyday routine The Company has forced me to follow. But after today, I can finally return to the outside world.

I hear footsteps echo outside in the hallway, the soft _click_ of the door's electric lock and Bob enters. He is as mundane-looking as he was a month ago, when he first asked me to save the world. We exchange silent nods and I rise to follow him._ This is it._

We take the elevator up the to the roof. From the hallway, the whirr of the helicopter is already audible. I struggle to keep my hair out of my eyes and my jacket from flying away as I near the helicopter.

"We expect you to return by tomorrow morning." Bob shouts through the noise. "We'll keep you posted. Contact us immediately if you need any assistance. Good luck."

I don't say anything, but stare at him for a few seconds before stepping inside the helicopter. A moment later, I can feel us rising into the air. I grip my seat tightly and grit my teeth. I dare not look down, but fear has disposed of all self-control. I can see Bob standing there, watching me from below. Even until he's a mere speck in the distance, I can still feel his eyes on me, judging my every move.

**Three weeks ago**

"ARGH!"

The sickening sound of bone cracking and my yells fill the room. I lie there on the matted floor, clutching my injured wrist for several minutes. The pain is as penetrating as the eyes that watch me from behind the two-way mirror before me. I know Bob is there and probably his daughter too, Elle. That sadistic little bitch must be full of giggles at my broken wrist.

A dark-brown hand reaches out and helps to lift me up.

"Come on, we'll get that hand of yours fixed." Dr. Surseh says, smiling at me. "And for the record, your kickboxing has improved, though I'm not exactly in any position to judge. I'm merely a doctor after all."

The corners of my mouth cannot help but form a smile. "Thanks, Doctor."

Dr. Mohinder Suresh is by far the only person who's managed to make me feel human ever since I've arrived at this facility, which was exactly a week ago.

It took me a while to understand everything: my abilities, The Company…Though, until now, I still have no clear idea of what exactly is happening to me. I'm nervous and doubtful, still. I've learned, in my few days here, that The Company treats its "patients" like a bunch of guinea pigs—animals. They think we—I—possess no mind. It'll take more than physical training and wires stuck to my brain to fully wear me out.

Bob said to me that after a day of conducting tests, I could leave, but I've been here for six days already. Not only have been they testing my ability, but have been giving me kickboxing lessons as well. I don't bother asking anymore. I never get any answers and if I do, it's not worth believing. The only honest dialogue that's passed through my ears was during my first evening here. Bob and Dr. Suresh were careless enough to converse right outside my doorway…

"So her abilities are similar to that of the Haitian's?" Bob asks, whispering.

_Why didn't they just talk in his office? Was Bob too excited?_

"Not necessarily." Dr. Suresh replied. "She can suppress others' abilities by forming this sort of shield. A bubble, you could say. Of course, it's understandable she's been unaware of this or the fact that there are others like her. If they've been near her, they surely could not have made known their abilities to her."

"How wide is her range?"

"That's yet to be discovered. Though, I believe she's been manifesting at an early age and her abilities have developed effortlessly."

"Is that all?"

"Well, there's also the possibility of her doing more with her shielding abilities. As I've described to you, she's surrounded by this bubble. Once she's aware of it and learns to control its range, she may also learn to control its obstructing force. She could block not just other people's abilities, but their emotions, thoughts and even _physical_ matter as well. She truly is a walking shield."

"Perfect. This means we can finally bring back Sylar to the facility."

They told me nearly the exact same information the following day, the day I was supposed to return home, but never mentioned this "Sylar." Bob said he'd like to run a few more tests. I thought of protesting, but I didn't. The day ended and I was escorted back to my room instead of the exit. I argued with Bob the next morning and he explained that he wished to keep me for a few more days. He prattled on about my abilities and even showed me my private records. They've been keeping an eye on me since I was eleven. The Company is meticulous and Bob proves this when he told me that "I" already have messaged my friends that I'm in New Jersey to visit my family. _What family?_

My record also states that my parents perished in a car accident when I was eight. It was a stormy night, there was a sudden blackout and a bridge. I was sent to live with my grandparents, who lived long enough to see me graduate from high school and receive my acceptance letter from Columbia University. My file as well mentions my fear of heights and that I have a slight obsessive compulsive disorder.

All of this, they reveal to me, but not one mention of "Sylar." The Company forgot to include in my file my constant curiosity.

In the day, I often wonder if I do posses these so-called superhuman abilities and why would I have such. I don't find them to be anything extraordinary. Flying or telekinesis…now those are truly some superhuman abilities. The migraine and nosebleed-inducing training, however, are not all in vain. I do acquire the feeling of having control over this "bubble" I have. Range is what the Doctor and I have been working on. Yesterday, I managed to make it smaller and I was finally able to witness Bob's ability. He waved the glimmering golden pen at me from the other side of the room as I wiped the blood trickling from my nose. He's a living Midas.

"Can I play with her now?" Elle asked, smiling childishly as a ball of bright blue light emanated in her hand.

I released my hold and Elle's ball of electricity and smile immediately disappeared.

"She learns quickly." Bob said to Dr. Suresh, as if I'm not even right in front of him.

My arm is bandaged and I'm sitting in Dr. Suresh's small office. It's as lifeless as all the other rooms. A framed photograph on his desk catches my eye. It's of his family: his father, his mother clutching him as a baby and a young girl—his sister.

"She's dead now." Dr. Suresh says, noticing my eyes on the picture. "She was killed by a virus that affects people with abilities. My father discovered a cure, but it was already too late."

I nod and my eyes drop to a book beside the photograph. A picture of Dr. Suresh's father is displayed above the name, Dr. Chandra Suresh.

"He wrote that book." Dr. Suresh says, showing the front cover.

_Activating Evolution_.

"It's all about his theories." He explains. "Would you like to read it?"

I glance up at him. Remorse is written all over his face.

"Of course."

There is a knock on the door and Bob enters.

"I'd like to speak to you, Veronica." He says. "In private."

I take the book from Dr. Suresh and follow Bob to his office. I sit on the sofa as Bob takes his seat behind his desk. He stares at an open folder on his desk before he hands it to me. I presume it's my file, but I'm surprised to see the name _Gabriel Gray_ written on the label. I glance up at Bob, giving him a questioning look.

He only says, "He goes by the name of Sylar."

I open the folder. It's similar to my own file…a birth certificate, personal database, typewritten notes, pictures, newspaper clippings…

_Serial killer strikes again…Walker family massacre…Sidewalk murder in Chicago…_

A picture of a young man smiles quietly up at me, dark hair combed neatly, dark eyes hidden behind glasses. His face is clean and well-defined with dark, prominent eyebrows. Was this seemingly innocent-looking man responsible for all these murders?

"He's the answer to all your questions." Bob says.

I put down the file. "Who is he? And what do I have to do with him?"

Bob sighs gruffly and rubs the bridge of his nose before narrating. "Gabriel Gray owned a shop in Brooklyn, repairing watches. He lived in an apartment in Queens, the same building where Dr. Chandra Suresh—" He nods at the book beside me. "—also resided. Gabriel also possesses a special ability. He has an 'intuitive aptitude'. Dr. Suresh conducted tests on him, but found nothing 'special' about him. Gabriel resorted to murdering a man possessing telekinetic abilities to convince Dr. Suresh that he's indeed 'special'. He kills his victims by slicing off the top of their heads and retrieves their brains. Now what he does with those, we still have no clear idea of. Anyway, Gabriel led to the murder of Dr. Suresh, who had questioned Gabriel's motives. After that, he's been on the hunt for others with superhuman abilities so he can take them for himself. To date, he's responsible for ten murders, including his own mother's."

"You answered my first question, now for the second one." I say, my tone more demanding than ever.

"About a week ago, Gabriel, who's come to call himself Sylar, was stabbed in the chest by one Hiro Nakamura at Kirby Plaza, New York. He was believed to be dead, but his body was missing. An accomplice of Daniel Linderman retrieved his body from the sewage system. He's currently in the middle of the Mexican jungle, hidden in a safehouse and recovering from his wounds. He's still unconscious, but he will wake soon and when he does, that's when you step into the picture."

The pieces of the puzzle fall quickly into place.

"I'm going to get him for you."

Bob nods. "Yes. He's a highly dangerous man. Although he's under medication—we've given him negation pills to suppress his abilities—that's not a 100 guarantee, but you are."

I bite my lip, nodding slowly.

"Hence, all the training. But I wonder…why the hell would you want to keep this serial killer alive?!"

"To study him and to help him, Veronica. That's what we do."

"Like an animal." I scoff silently. "I don't think I'm going to even agree to this request."

"This is no request, Veronica. It's imperative that you take this assignment. Didn't you say you wanted to save the world?"

I frown at him.

"After this, you can go."

_That's better._

"When will he wake up?" I ask, before going through the door.

"That is still indefinite."

_I'm trapped._

* * *

Review, please! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Thanks to _smithsbabe65_ and _City Light Lyrics_ for the feedback! Reviews (good or bad) are the only things that can keep me going with this thing, so please review, all you 42 people who've read this! Yes, this chapter is quite short. Dunno if that's a good thing or a bad thing...you tell me!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing (except for Ms. Hammond)...sadly.

**Veronica Hammond**

**Somewhere in Mexico**

Long shadows cast over the barren land of the Mexican desert as the yellow sun begins it descent behind the distant rocky mountains. Clouds of dust gather around the sleek black SUV. I'm the only one driving along the open road. It's been two hours since the helicopter took me to Odessa, Texas. The minute I reached the border, I received a message from Bob. Sylar apparently had escaped. He, naturally, murdered his guard and is currently making his way into the desert. I'm supposed to be kept posted on his location and according the latest update, he's not too far off—two miles.

_This isn't supposed to be the plan_. I grasp the steering wheel hard in frustration. _I'm not supposed to be _hunting_ for him in the middle of this damn desert. Well, at least I'm not flying anymore_. Earlier, when the helicopter landed, I all but kissed the ground in relief. It was perhaps more nauseating than the plane ride to Florida I took when I was nine. My grandparents decided to be bring me to Disneyland. The turbulence made me throw up probably every single thing I had ever eaten. I almost fainted. There were no rollercoasters for me when I went to The Happiest Place on Earth.

_How did I get myself into this mess? Why didn't I just head to the office before Bob arrived at my apartment? Oh, but he would have found me anyway…Wait. What's that?_

I slam hard on the breaks and the SUV comes to a screeching halt. I turn on the headlights. The sky has dimmed; the last rays of sunlight dissolving in the cloudless sky above. A figure is lying in the middle of the road. I step out of the vehicle and slowly approach the inert man. His clothes are slightly torn and covered with dust and dirt. I kneel beside him to take a closer look. _Sylar_. His hand suddenly shoots out and grabs my hand, which hasn't fully healed. I gasp in shock and pain.

"Help…me…" He mumbles.

_Like I have a choice_.

"Can you get up?" I ask him.

He doesn't say anything, but he struggles to rise as I help pull him up. I practically drag him into the front seat of the SUV. His eyes are closed and his head slumps on the windowpane. I hastily message Bob before getting into the driver's seat. _Found him. On the way back to TX_.

I back up and turn the car round. Sylar's eyes flutter open. He groans, massaging his head. He glances around, the look of surprise and relief on his face at the realization of no longer being in the desert. He looks far from the picture in his file. His hair is shorter, disheveled and the thick stubble on him gives him a very rough, hardened look. He looks like a madman. His eyes land on me and I can feel a multitude of emotions from him, most especially curiosity.

"Thank you for helping me." He says, his voice low and raspy.

I hand him a thermos of water, which he takes gratefully.

"My name's…Gabriel, by the way." He says, after a minute of downing the water.

"I'm Veronica."

"Most people would usually think twice about picking up a complete stranger from the middle of the desert." Sylar says, smiling slightly.

"Then I suppose I'm not like most people." I say, returning the smile.

"It must be fate. You just happened to be driving out there and stumbled upon me. What brought you to the middle of Mexican desert, anyway?"

"I think I should be asking you that question."

Sylar frowns. "Actually, I can't really remember much. The last thing I do remember was I…was on my way back to my apartment in New York when I was stabbed and then I woke up in the desert. It took me a while to realize I was in Mexico."

"That sounds awful. Well, at least your safe now." I say, playing along. "As for me, I just wanted to…see the sunset. It's been a while since I've seen the horizon. You can't get much of it back in the city. You must be right about that idea of fate, I'm also from New York. I drove from Texas, where I had a business trip."

Sylar's smile spreads into a wide grin. "It's fate indeed. Where did you drive from, in Texas?"

I pause before answering. "Odessa."

Sylar's grin dissipates. He only nods and shifts his gaze outside the window. Nothing but darkness. The pale moon rises on the bruised purple sky and several stars begin to appear. I want to lower down the windows and smell the cool, desert air. In New York, all I have are bleak polluted skies and the stench from the filthy streets. Sylar's eyes are closed again. He's napping or probably feigning it. Either way, his aura of innocence seems to surround him once more. Not a madman, not a murderer.

**Two days ago**

Hair dripping, I step out of the shower. The warm water felt wonderful on my tired body. Today's training was more grueling than ever. My wrist still pains me and I'm forced to continue my kickboxing and punching with my left hand. Wrapping myself in a towel, I move toward my tiny bed in the corner of tiny room. A fresh pair of white pants and a white shirt lie folded and waiting on the hard mattress. Along with my freedom, my fashion sense has died in this facility as well. I hear a knock on my door.

"What?" I snap back as I don on my shirt.

I hear the door open and I whip around angrily, but my scowl quickly dissolves at seeing an Indian man with dark curls and a lab coat standing before me.

"Dr. Suresh."

"Sorry if I was…interrupting you." He says, noticing my damp hair clinging to my now-soaked shirt and still-sodden skin.

I laugh. "There was nothing to interrupt."

I dry my hair with my towel as he sits himself on my bed. He seems as tired as I am.

"So, doctor…?"

"Please, Veronica, call me Mohinder." He says. "We've been seeing each other every day for the past three weeks."

"All right, Mohinder, what brings you to my cozy little cell?"

"I was just showing Bob your progress for the day, when he received a call. Then he told me to send you to his office immediately."

"Oh."

"I think he has news on Sylar."

"Sylar? Then the only reason why he'd want to see me ASAP is if…he's awake!" I can feel my heart skip a beat. _I can finally leave!_

"It must be so." Mohinder's face darkens. "Though, I still can't comprehend why they would want to keep _him_ alive."

"A new lab rat to poke and prod at, Bob told me. My assignment's to retrieve the vermin, but I'm just looking forward to reaching the light at the end of this horrible tunnel. Bob also told me I can resume my life, once and for all, after all of this."

"And what life would that be?"

"A rather dull, currently jobless one. At least a life that doesn't involve breaking bones and having nosebleeds every other day."

Mohinder nods quietly.

"Oh, don't tell me you're going to give me a lengthy speech on sacrificing one's self for the greater good of humanity? Call me selfish, Mohinder, but I don't want to go about risking my life every single day…" I say exasperatedly. "Or are you just going to miss me?" I add teasingly.

He half-heartedly smiles. "All we do in life involves a little bit of selfishness. And aren't you already risking your life just by encountering perhaps the most dangerous person on earth?"

"That's for only one day and then I'm home-free."

"Oh, and for the record, I would miss you."

**Present day**

I can feel the beginnings of fatigue descend upon me. It's been a long and stressful day. The lights ahead grow brighter and soon we join the queue of vehicles. The clock by the car's radio reads 8:17. Sylar begins to shift around and he eventually awakes. He shields his eyes from the sudden brightness of the white lights surrounding us.

"The border." He mutters. "Wait, won't we have trouble with—"

"Don't worry, I have that covered." I cut in.

A bespectacled officer greets us good evening as I lower down my window. He eyes Sylar beadily, but before a word can come out of his mouth, I pull out a piece of paper, which The Company had given me prior to driving out to Mexico. I'd never read what's written on it, but they instructed me to show it to border patrol when I would return with Sylar. The officer frowns as he reads the paper, but hands it back to me silently and bids us to leave.

"What was that?" Sylar asks, eyeing the piece of paper, which I hastily stuff into my pocket.

"Oh…just a special little note." I say, smiling.

I expect him to question me further, but he doesn't. Instead, he resumes his nap and I accelerate down the empty road.

* * *

Review, please! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** I might not be getting a flood of reviews, but I appreciate every one I get. A thank you to last chapter's reviewers! Feedback is the brain to my Sylar. So feed me, please. This chapter is quite short...I apologize.

**Disclaimer:** Do I really have to say it?

**Veronica Hammond and Gabriel Gray**

**Odessa, Texas**

10:23. Just as expected. The car's headlights snatch the "Welcome to Primatech Paper Company!" sign. Few lights are on the company grounds. I give Sylar a wary glance. _He's been here before. He'll panic once he knows where he is. Please, please, don't wake up_.

"Where are you taking me, Veronica?"

I nearly jump in my seat. I don't answer him, but step hard on the gas, concentrating on the route around the paper factory buildings. _Just a final turn on the next corner…_He suddenly grabs my arm and I almost lose control of the wheel.

"I asked you a question: where are you taking me?" He hisses into my ear.

The car swerves round the corner and I hit the brakes. The silhouette of a helicopter is a few feet away. I shake away his grip on me.

He only glares at me. "Get me out of here."

"With pleasure." I say, my breath short.

A round of armed men run towards the SUV, their guns pointed sharply at Sylar's head. I step out of the car, cradling my sore wrist and walk shakily towards the helicopter.

"I said I'll get you out of here." I say to Sylar, who's being dragged towards the helicopter. "And I will."

**Hartsdale, New York**

**An hour-and-a-half later**

Only one of the armed guards accompany us on the journey back to New York. For the entire trip, Sylar remains quietly staring out the window. He seems to be taking it all in, analyzing every little piece, every little act that brought him here.

No sooner do the glowering skyscrapers appear to greet us as we reach New York. The helicopter prepares to land on facility's roof and I can feel my stomach turn over. I grip my the edge of my seat and slow down my breathing. I only release all the tension when the noise of the helicopter dies down.

Bob awaits close at hand and, for once, I'm glad to see the man. I step down from the helicopter, relief and satisfaction washing over me like a welcoming tide.

"Good work, Veronica." He says. "It's not yet even midnight and you're already here—and with Gabriel."

"My name is Sylar!" Sylar snaps.

"Pleasure to meet you, too." Bob says placidly. "Veronica, we'll have talk, but not after you aid in escorting Mr. Gray to his unit."

I don't bother arguing. _What's a few more minutes here?_ I stride beside Sylar, on the verge of skipping, grateful for the ground beneath my feet—and more. Sylar is still silently furious as we take him to the basement, where his special unit awaits. I slide my card, which I only acquired a day ago, into the electronic lock on the door and press a five-digit (43549) code on the small keypad. A second later, the metal door slides open.

There's another room, where, through a large glass panel, a cot stands in the center with a urinal and sink in the corner. I enter another code (84326) on the second keypad and the guard pushes Sylar through the doorway. He takes a look around before moving towards the glass. His eyes are on the ground, but I take a step backwards. He slams his fists against the glass, cringing at the pain, then slowly raises his eyes at me. For a second, I almost pity him—a caged animal. _He's caged for a good reason_, I remind myself.

"You'll have all the time to observe him." I hear Bob's dry tone from behind me.

"Excuse me?" I say, turning around with a puzzled look on my face.

He leads me out into the hallway, away from Sylar's stony glare. The lights automatically shut off as the door closes.

"We underestimated him. This is the second time he's escaped on our watch." Bob explains. "We can't afford anymore mistakes. We need you here, Veronica."

My jaw tightens and my fists curl. I turn away from Bob and stare at my dull reflection on the gleaming white floor.

"How long?" I ask, my voice trembling. "How long will I be here?"

"We can't be all too certain about that. As you can tell, Gabriel Gray is rather…difficult."

I nod shortly.

"We've transferred you to the ground floor. Your room is directly above his." Bob continues, gesturing towards Sylar's unit.

"How convenient." I mutter icily.

"We'll talk more tomorrow. Get some rest." Bob then heads towards the elevator.

I don't move until I hear the soft sound of the elevator doors closing after him. My heart is racing, breath shallow. I feel dizzy. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes. I can feel tears rushing to my eyes, but I bite my lip and shake my head. Only a single tear manages to escape before I trail slowly to my room.

* * *

The alarm blares for several seconds before I shut it off. The ringing still echoes all throughout the room. I sit up on my bed and pull my legs towards me, resting my chin on my knees. There's a sick feeling in my empty stomach. I feel like vomiting. My new room is similar to my former. White walls, barred windows, cold linoleum floors. I hate those walls, those windows and those floors. I want to get out of this box. I want to breathe.

Escaping seems futile. The Company may underestimate its targets, but it makes up for its thoroughness when it comes to tracking and surveying them. _They will find me_. I've heard snippets of this outrageous tracking system The Company has—the Walker tracking system or something like that. Mohinder and his telepathic friend, Matt, were discussing it with Bob some time ago.

Threats aren't an option either. I can't do much with my abilities. I have yet to figure out how to throw people against the wall with this presently-fragile bubble of mine. Unless, I can persuade another "patient" here to help me escape. But who? Oh hell, either way, The Company will still locate me.

All I can do is get on with it, like a good, obedient little girl. The smug face of Elle comes into my mind. She's a twisted piece of work. All credit goes to her daddy dearest, Bob, for that. No, I won't let them control me. I'll find a way out of this, somehow.

Like every morning for the past month, I commence with my routine once more. I take a shower and dress. However, I'm surprised to no longer see the plain white uniform laid out for me. I previously failed to notice a small cabinet in one corner of the room. I open it and my eyes widen at the sight of my own clothes. I smile faintly. They still smell of the lavender-scented detergent I used. I put on a pair of jeans and a gray button-down sweater over a white top. The warm comfort and smell of home seem almost alien and disconcerting.

A tray of food is already set on the desk by my bed: toast with bacon and eggs. They usually give me something dreary like oatmeal or cereal. The Company must be in some sort of celebration at the retrieval of Sylar and I'm apparently getting a slice of the cake. Someone knocks on my door as I sip on my glass of orange juice. No one's ever knocked before they enter my room. I usually anticipate someone's entrance at the sound of the electric lock.

"Err…come in." I say loudly.

_Click. Beep._ The door swings open to reveal Mohinder.

"Good morning, Veronica. It's nice to see you alive and well." He says, smiling brightly.

"Nice to see you too, Mohinder." I say. "I guess you won't be missing me anymore. I'm going to be staying for, probably, a very long while."

"Bob left for California today." Mohinder says.

I let out a sigh of delight. "Good. I don't want to hear anymore of my duties. Does this mean I get the day off?"

"On the contrary, no. You and I are going to pay our latest patient a visit."

* * *

Another doctor is in Sylar's cell as we enter. I know him as Henry. Through the glass panel, we watch him give Sylar an injection. It's been only a few hours, but Sylar looks on the edge of death. He's clean-shaven now, but his skin is pallid and there are dark circles around his half-closed eyes. He's curled up on his cot, staring off into space.

"What did they do to him?" I ask softly.

"They're giving him a special kind of medication, something stronger than the negation pills." Mohinder replies. "The Company developed it long before I came to join. The other doctors haven't fully explained it to me. I can only guess it may be a raw, undistilled version of the negation pills."

Henry nods at us as he leaves. We continue to observe the inert Sylar for several moments.

I break the silence. "All right. So, what now?"

Mohinder is scowling furiously at Sylar. It's the first time I've ever seen him like this. Then I remember Sylar's file and that he's the one murdered Mohinder's father. I also recall Bob telling me before that Sylar had fooled Mohinder, becoming his so-called ally.

"It's not your fault." I suddenly blurt out.

Mohinder's face slowly softens. "Bob and I have been long discussing if there's anyway to remove Sylar's abilities—the one's which he took from others. Suppressing them isn't enough and killing him…is our last resort."

I move towards the glass, my face practically pressing against the pane. "He deserves to die." I hope he hears me.

* * *

"How was California? Sunny, I hope?" I ask Elle sweetly.

She lowers her sunglasses and bats her bright blue eyes at me. "Bright and breezy as your pretty little face."

She struts away, laughing. I roll my eyes silently. After two days, Bob and Elle have returned from California. Perhaps they went on a little vacation, but I highly doubt it. It's all work and no play for The Company. And in Elle's case, she plays at work. Blue sparks crackle in her hands as she disappears down the hall.

"I hope the same goes for our latest resident." Bob says behind me.

"Oh, sure. Your special medication has got him all cheery like a 5-year-old in Disneyland." I say, sarcasm lacing my words.

"His body will adjust to it. He'll be well in no time." Bob says. "Now, you and I have to discuss a few things."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **Late update, I know. I sort of became discouraged when no one really reviewed. Nonetheless, here's chapter four, for those who are interested.

**Dislcaimer:** Blah blah, not mine, blah blah...

**Veronica Hammond**

**Hartsdale, New York**

_With a flick of his hand, my body slams against the wall. He raises his finger and traces a line in the air. I scream for help, but no sound comes out of my mouth. My shield is gone. Streaks of red fill my eyes and his taunting laugh echoes…_

I sit up suddenly, breathing hard. My blanket is tangled all around me. I can feel my shirt sticking to me from the cold sweat. Sylar's wicked laugh still rings in my ears, then I realize it's the alarm clock. I shake my head at my own silly paranoia and shut the thing off. _I shouldn't have reread his file…shouldn't have gone through all those photographs…_

I have new routine. After my morning ritual of showering and eating, I accompany one of the doctors, usually Henry, down to Sylar's unit. He's given his morning dose and I give him his breakfast. Today is my third day. It's the same as the first and second. He eats quietly and I watch him. After, I come up to work on my abilities with Mohinder. I manage to break the glass panes of a cabinet and receive another nosebleed. I eat lunch with Sylar, who I later bring up to Mohinder's lab where he's tested on. After an hour or so, I leave for my physical training. I return after showering to Mohinder's lab, where a worn out Sylar waits for me to drag him back to his cell. Dinner follows and I head down to watch him receive his evening dose, then it's off to sleep. The cycle continues.

A week passes and Sylar still hasn't spoken. For once, Bob's word is true. Color returns to Sylar's ashen face and he often paces around his cell, but only for a few minutes. He slumps against the wall, the medicine heavy and intoxicating his brain. It's the second day of the second week. As I poke my lunch with my fork, I come to realize I've been in this facility for nearly two months. It seems more like a decade. I glance up at Sylar. The Company only managed to imprison him for several days, not even a week. He was enraged, but now he's passive. Has he finally come to accept his fate? A man's soul is broken into pieces when he kills another, but maybe there's still a small shard of his soul left in him.

"I knew all along."

My fork drops to the floor with a clatter. _Did he just…talk?_ Sylar is sitting with his back towards me.

"I knew you weren't just driving out in the middle of the desert to see the damn sunset." His voice is hoarse and low. "But I had to get out of there. I should've killed you the minute you said you came from Odessa, but I didn't. Maybe the meds made me a little careless too."

"So he speaks." Is all I can say.

Wincing, Sylar rises and leans against the glass pane, staring placidly at me.

"I didn't see you the last time they had me locked up." Slyar mutters. "Then again, all I remember seeing was Bennet and a bunch of doctors and nurses. Oh, and that one little girl who tried to kill me. She ended up killing herself so I couldn't get her ability. A fucking martyr." He smirks. "So, _Veronica_, what makes you tick? I know you're special. Show me what you can do. It's not like I can do anything about it." He presses his hand against the glass.

"I'm nothing special, really." I say. "I'm just playing nurse to you. That's all I'm good for in this place."

"I'm guessing you didn't want to be here in the first place."

"Good guess, Einstein."

Sylar laughs and I shudder at the sound. I remember my dream—nightmare—and lower my eyes to the floor.

"So, how did you end up here?" Sylar asks. "Did you get picked up from the middle of the desert too? You should've saved yourself the trouble and tranquilized me."

"A tranquilized person isn't as easy to get through border patrol as a serial killer on the run."

"You didn't answer my first question."

"I think I'm supposed to be the one bossing you around."

"You must be really brave to head out to the desert alone and hunt down a psychopath. Or really stupid."

_Really stupid_.

"Neither."

"I can hear your little heart racing."

I give him a puzzled look.

"Your medicine is only numbing my abilities, not killing them. And I can tell you're hiding something special from me."

"Are you finished?" I snap. "It's time to for your tests."

"Ahh, my favorite part of the day. I look forward to seeing you again tonight."

I press a button and a guard enters. He drags Sylar out and leads him up to the lab. I walk slowly behind them.

"I don't feel well." I lie to Mohinder as I enter his lab after I had my post-workout shower.

My hair is still damp, clinging to the back of my sweater. Sylar is lying on a bench, rubbing his head from exhaustion. He stares at me and I turn around.

"I don't think I can carry on with this." I mutter, nudging my head in Sylar's direction. "He talked to me earlier." I add silently.

Mohinder gives Sylar a curious glance before calling on the guard to escort Sylar back to his unit.

"What did he say?" Mohinder asks the moment Sylar disappears out into the hallway.

"He said he knew I was part of some Company plan the moment he met me." I say. "And that he knows I'm…_special_. But I completely denied it. He still won't believe me, though. I _am_ a terrible liar."

"Clearly. You don't look the least bit unwell." Mohinder retorts. "Don't bother with Sylar. He'll just trick you into helping him, then kill you. He's a patient, Veronica, a dangerous one."

I frown. "Well, so am I."

I leave the the doctor's office, somewhat fuming. He obviously had forgotten that I, too, am still treated as an animal here. Forget having my own ID and wearing my own clothes. All I'm doing is babysitting. Just like Elle. That one's already lost every bit of her mind and soul. Twenty-three years in this place can do that to you.

"You said you weren't feeling well."

Sylar speaks even before the lights come on.

"Have you been given tonight's dose yet?" I ask him firmly.

"Not for the next few minutes, no." Sylar says, moving towards the glass pane. "Strange. The drugs should be wearing off a bit by now, but I feel just as…powerless. Only until you came in."

"It's all in your head." I say faintly.

The walls, even the glass, surrounding Sylar are quite thick, iron and near impenetrable. I struggle to keep my him enclosed in my bubble, quelling his abilities.

"If I could use my abilities right now, you know what I'd do?" Sylar says.

"Aside from the obvious?" I retort dryly.

"I'd find out what's so special about you, Veronica, and if it's any good, I'd like to have a piece of it."

"Probably the only special thing about me is that I have the ability to stomach your repulsiveness for a long period of time." I shoot back. "But you're right. I didn't choose to be _here_ in the first place, being your nurse. It's an insult to what I'm capable of. They're treating me like a child."

I'm not lying. The Company took away my life of normalcy and replaced it with a spectacularly bizarre one. Normal has fallen out of my vocabulary. I can say farewell to my former dreams of pure convention: get a job, travel, marry, have kids, die happy. Since last week, my only dream is to survive this madness. Nearly two months with The Company and nothing makes sense. Yet, I am beginning to embrace it. Then I remember twisted little Elle. I must keep in mind that the world—my world—doesn't and shouldn't revolve around The Company. I won't let them tell me what to do. I will get out of here.

"Veronica?"

"Hmm?"

I realize I've been staring off into space and turn around to see Dr. Henry standing behind me.

"Oh, doctor…err…"

"Are you all right?"

"Not really." I glance at Sylar, who's now sitting calmly on his bed. "But it's nothing. I'm just tired."

The doctor heads in and quickly injects Sylar. He nods off to sleep in a matter of minutes and I leave him in the dark after.

* * *

Review, please! And I promise a longer chapter next time (yes, I'm actually continuing this). :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you all like Sylar. I've really tried to make sure he stays in character. This is the last chapter I've managed to complete and the rest of the story is yet to be written. I don't know when, but with all the positive comments, I'm beginning to feel like continuing this. I've got quite a busy month ahead (August), so I apologize if the wait will be that long. But here's a pretty lengthy chapter to compensate for that!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, except Ms. Hammond and "Substance TK".

**Veronica Hammond and Gabriel Gray**

**Hartsdale, New York**

"What are you capable of exactly?"

"Good morning to you, too."

It's the following day and the moment Dr. Henry left, Sylar shoots more questions at me. An excellent way to start the day.

"Last night, you said it's an insult—how _they're_ treating you—to your capability." Sylar says in an assuring tone.

He's lying still on his bed, eyes quite vacant, but he forces himself to converse with me.

"I…" I trail off.

Too late. He knows the next thing that comes out of my mouth is a lie. I can see him smirk.

"I know how you feel…insignificant and ignored. Everyone tells you how _special_ you are, but you know they're lying. They don't believe in you. They can't see what you can see. What I see…"

A second later, his eyes close and he remains still and silent. I give him a final glance before exiting. He's right. The parasite, the madman, the murderer is right.

* * *

Mohinder is restless and frustrated, mostly because of Sylar. The feeling is mutual. After a few hours of tests and training, I slump lazily on a chair in his lab. I can imagine my sphere waning and Mohinder's pent up emotions and aggravated thoughts hit me from all directions. Today's achievements include blocking a simple flying tennis ball to a filing cabinet and zero nosebleeds. My developments barely seem to cheer up Mohinder.

Sylar's words slither into my mind…_Everyone tells you how special you are, but you know they're lying_. Would Mohinder lie to me, too? Of course he would. He's working for The Company of his own free will. He doesn't seem to be the type of person who'd rebel against authority. The Company adores him.

"I'll send up Sylar here in a while." I say as I leave.

"They underestimated you. That's what Bob said."

I'm earlier than usual—one hour to be exact—before it's bedtime for Patient Zero. Sylar probably knows more about The Company than I do. He fooled Mohinder once and worked with him. He was previously captured, but managed to escape. He knows how things work and I'm just as curious, especially with regards to this facility.

"Really now?" A smirk grows on Sylar's face. "They underestimate a lot of things."

I nod shortly in agreement.

"I'm surprised you're telling me these things, Veronica." Sylar continues. "Unless it's another pathetic ploy of The Company…"

"I'm not revealing anything vital." I say defensively. "There's no one else here, really, I can complain about The Company to. And it's not like I was given orders not to talk to you, just that I shouldn't really pay attention to what you say."

"Well, I'm flattered." Sylar says, laughing weakly. "But for someone who hates The Company, you seem to be an obedient little girl."

"I don't have much of a choice." I reply, sighing. "Like my assignment to retrieve you from Mexico and _this_."

"What's making you stay—aside from me?"

I grimace at him. "I'm trapped. If I leave, they'll find me again and put me back here. They haven't threatened me or anything like that. Not yet anyway. They know I don't like it here. Who does? But lately, I've been quiet about it, as if showing to them that I'm fine being their little puppet. I'm just finding a way to get out of here, without them still able to pull on my strings."

"Aren't you worried I just might tell someone about your little plans?"

I grit my teet at this. My thoughts were too loud, I couldn't hear what I was saying.

"Who are they going to believe? The psychopath or the good little girl?"

Sylar mirrors my smug smile.

"I have to say, they've underestimated you as well."

* * *

It's officially been three months since I've first arrived at this facility, since I first learned of my abilities, since I "saved the world." Every day is quite the same, but I feel less…isolated. True, I had Mohinder to consider a friend, but I can't trust anyone who works for The Company. Strange how I don't mind being in Sylar's company. But a killer's a killer. I can't trust him too much, either.

It's been quite confusing, unsure who and what to really trust. For all I know, Sylar could've snitched on me and has been feeding me lies so I'll remain ignorant. If he is lying, he's a creative genius, relating to me his story of being a lowly watchmaker's son in Brooklyn to discovering his abilities, the detailed accounts of the people he's met and murdered…

Listening to his narrations is distinctly different from reading it on his file. At the end of the day, I often sympathize for him. He's told me that he felt guilty for everything countless times, but he couldn't stop, he couldn't let those people walk away, undeserving of their powers. I feel nervous at the thought of him discovering I have abilities. Would he slay me for his own benefit as well? _Of course_.

"How are Sylar's tests going?" I ask Mohinder after my session. "Bob said you'd hope to find a way to get ride of abilities he's stolen from others. How's that coming along?"

Mohinder sighs. "Not all too well. It's especially difficult since he refuses to cooperate. It's been two months and we seem to be going nowhere."

"What about that medication you give him? How does that work?"

"That's not my field. You'll have to ask Henry about that."

And I do, on our way later that evening to give Sylar his injection.

"That's classified information." He replies curtly.

A bunch of pills and some shots—classified? What sort of drugs is The Company exactly formulating?

"What does it feel like? After you get a shot?"

I'm leaning against the glass panel, watching Sylar lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"It's like my brain took too many shots of tequila, if you know what I mean. Everything gets foggy. My vision blurs, my hearing weakens, I can barely think or say anything. It overpowers me so much so that I just pass out. That's for the probably the first hour. When I wake up, I feel pretty normal, but then not strong enough to even pace the room for more than five minutes. Reminds me of having a flu. You can go about and do the usual, but your head feels like it's been smashed."

"Oh."

"They never drugged you?"

"Not to my memory."

"You're not missing anything. It's not like you can even get high for a few moments."

"I wonder how they made it, though. I asked and it's apparently classified information."

Curiosity crawls up Sylar's face. "Not even Suresh told you?"

I shake my head.

"Must be some really dangerous stuff if they're keeping it top secret."

"Bad medicine shouldn't be given to the bad guy."

There's a glint of amusement in Sylar's eyes. At that moment, Dr. Henry enters. The medicine and syringe are stored in a small black box, which he only opens after donning on a face mask and medical gloves. I eye the clear liquid as the doctor injects it into Sylar. I wonder where Dr. Henry's lab could be.

* * *

"Elle!"

The echoing _click-clack_ of her high-heeled pumps come to a stop as she suddenly spins around to give me a bright smile.

"Hey there, sunshine." She says, her blue eyes flashing sparks.

"Do you know where Dr. Henry is?" I ask, though I just passed him downstairs as he was on his way to give Sylar his morning dose, from which I excused myself because of a "girl thing."

"Must be giving Angel Gabriel his breakfast." Elle says, smile widening. "Why'd you ask?"

She folds her arms across her chest and glares slightly at me, but her smile doesn't drop.

"He's not down there. He must be late. Where's his lab?" My words rush out and I bite my lip to highlight my panic.

Elle answers straight away without questioning me. "Right across Bollywood Boy's."

I'm surprised she doesn't see through my rather poor acting skills. I'm a terrible liar after all, but she only stands there and watches me walk hurriedly down the hall, to the door across Mohinder's office. I can still feel her electric eyes on me and I knock on the door, wait for a few seconds and insert my card on the slot beside the door. There's no code to be entered, thankfully, and I hear a soft beep before I push the door open.

It's a typical lab: a microscope on a steel table in the center, a computer beside a file cabinet in the corner, glass cabinets lined with test tubes and beakers, and in another corner are odd-looking instruments that I remember seeing in a few _CSI_ episodes I've watched. There are no scattered papers or books; they're all neatly arranged on a desk. I was hoping Dr. Henry would be the messy type of doctor, quite like Mohinder, and I could easily rummage through his lab without leaving any trace. I have to be careful. And fast. In a few minutes, he would be on his way back to his lab.

I decide to tackle the files on his desk first. They all appear to be DNA tests results. _The information's classified_, I remind myself. _Why would that sort of thing just be lying around on his desk?_ I almost slap myself for being so slow. I carefully arrange the papers and lock my eyes on the file cabinet. There are six drawers, a sticker label on each one. I grope the handle of the second drawer with the sticker label "F-J." I pull the handle, but it doesn't budge. It's locked. And it's been nearly five minutes since I entered Dr. Henry's lab. I can almost hear the click of the card and the beep of the scanner. I shake away the paranoia and focus my strength on the cabinet drawer. I force the lock to break in my mind and soon, I hear a resounding crack in the silent lab, like tiny metal bits falling apart. My head slightly throbbing, I pull open the drawer with ease.

I quickly thumb through the sorted folders, rushing to find Sylar's file. The name "Gray, Gabriel: Patient Zero" jumps at me and I pull out the rather thick file folder. Past his standard database, there's a table of his past tests and their results. There are a few notes in Dr. Henry's loopy handwriting along the margins. I rush past them, only able to catch a few words such as "passive" and "uncooperative." I come across another table with the heading: "Daily Medical Treatment." Beside the checked boxes of "Morning Treatment" and "Evening Treatment" are specific times and the amount of the dosages. There's more of Dr. Henry's loopy handwriting beneath the "Results" heading. "Constant passive behavior. Only 50 brain activity after immediate treatment." It says under last night's treatment. _That'd practically make him a zombie_, I think to myself.

I finally find what I'm looking for as I flip to the next page: a description of Sylar's medical treatment. "'Substance TK', derived from the herb…combined with…dangerous on high levels of dosage…one milileter per 24 hours…may cause hormonal imbalance…abnoramility in brain activity…ultimately, death." A quick read of the page-long explanation told me one thing: The Company is poisoning Sylar.

I can hear the blood pounding in my ears along with…footsteps echoing outside! I quickly stuff Sylar's file back into the drawer, slide it back in and dart for the door. I pull it open, slowly. I can feel my knees trembling, but as I peer out the empty hallway, I issue a long sigh of relief. I shut the door with a shaky hand and stumble down to Sylar's cell.

* * *

**AN: **I apologize for the utter vagueness of "Substance TK". I'm no chemist or whatever, so I still have to do some research on that. The drug's name may inevitably change as well. Anyways, review please! :)

Oh, and shameless plug: If anyone here's a Harry Potter fan, I've got a fanfic up. Please check it out: **"Counting Stars"**. Thanks! :)


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